


Promised Eternity (A Ring of Endless Light Remix)

by victoria_p (musesfool)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bring Back Black, M/M, Remix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-03-15
Updated: 2005-03-15
Packaged: 2017-12-22 08:17:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/910961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musesfool/pseuds/victoria_p
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sirius deserved this happiness, this second chance, and he wasn't going to question it too closely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Promised Eternity (A Ring of Endless Light Remix)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Rynne and Sullen Siren for the beta, to Mousapelli for betaing and handholding and listening to me whine, to Bethy, for reassurance, and to Setissma for writing one of my favorite Remus/Sirius stories ever, the original **Promised Eternity**.

_I saw Eternity the other night,_  
_Like a great ring of pure and endless light,_  
                    _All calm, as it was bright;_  
_And round beneath it, Time in hours, days, years_  
                  _Driv'n by the spheres_  
_Like a vast shadow mov'd; in which the world_  
                    _And all her train were hurl'd._  
"The World" ~ Henry Vaughn

***

"Sirius, mate, are you with us?"

Sirius opened his eyes to see James staring at him, eyes narrowed and brow furrowed in concern. 

"What?"

"You look like you're going to pass out." James pushed a glass across the table at him. "Have some water."

Sirius took a deep breath and wondered if he were hallucinating. He was sitting in the small yellow kitchen of James and Lily's flat in Bristol. 

"What?" he repeated. Then, softly, disbelievingly, "James?"

"Have you been drinking?"

He turned, heart aching in his chest at the familiar acid-sharp voice. "Lily? No. No. I'm just-- I--"

James snorted, and Lily relented. "We're all a little--" She shook her head. "Harry hasn't been sleeping--"

Sirius sucked in a deep breath. This was it. This was the night he'd convinced them to make the switch, to make Peter the Secret Keeper. He'd lived it over and over again in Azkaban, every word, every look, every doubt about Remus, about himself. He closed his eyes again, opened them, and stared down at his hands -- the skin smooth and supple and lightly tanned, rather than pale and ashy and pulled too tightly over prominent knuckles. He swallowed hard. 

"So what's this brilliant plan of yours, then?" Lily prompted, and he felt a sob rise in his chest, choked it down. He didn't want to say the words. He _wouldn't_ say the words. Not this time.

"Nothing," he replied, his voice thick and hoarse. "I thought I'd leave Remus the motorbike, is all. He knows how to take care of it; he'll know what it means if I leave it with him and don't come back." He drew a shuddering breath, heart hammering against his ribs. He'd never been able to change the memory before. Were the dementors losing power over him? Had he finally gone mad?

James nodded. "Makes sense. What about Peter?"

"I don't trust him," Sirius snarled, remembering the rat and all the pain he'd caused; remembering his own stupidity and arrogance for not seeing in Peter the possibility of betrayal, for letting Peter's sly insinuations make him doubt Remus's loyalty.  He'd been cursing himself for that for fifteen years. Even if this wasn't real, he wasn't going to make the same mistakes again.

"Padfoot?" James was picking up on his discomfort; the tension in the air was palpable.

"I just, oh, I don't know, Prongs. It's just a feeling."

"I thought you'd said Remus--" Lily began, and Sirius snarled again.

"No! No. Not Remus. I was... I can't believe I ever thought it of him. No." He scrubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands, shook his head vehemently. "Remus would never betray you."

"I didn't think he would," Lily answered hotly, and Sirius recalled her strong defense of Remus. He'd told Remus--

That thought made him stop, and think again. 

He'd told Remus Lily had never doubted him, and had only given in once Sirius had convinced James that switching to Peter was a brilliant plan.

_He'd told Remus._

He'd escaped Azkaban and tried to kill Peter. He remembered that night in the Shrieking Shack, two years on the run, and a year in Grimmauld Place. He started to hyperventilate, because what in the name of Merlin on a bloody motorbike was going on here?

"I know," he said finally, still having trouble getting his breathing under control. "You were right -- are right, I mean. You're right. I was wrong."

"What's this?" Lily asked, trying to lighten the mood. "The great Sirius Black admitting he was wrong?"

He shrugged one shoulder, stung by the joke, and took a drink from the glass of water James had shoved at him. He closed his eyes as the coolness of it washed over his dry tongue and down his parched throat. 

"I didn't have all the information then that I have now," he said, voice still creaky.

James stared at him for a long moment, and Sirius forced himself to meet that level hazel gaze. He remembered those eyes, wide and blind, staring up at him from behind shattered lenses in the rubble of the house in Godric's Hollow, and his hands clenched into fists.

"Trust me," he said, his voice sounding hoarse and so very young to his ears. "Please. Just trust me. I can do this for you."

Lily took his hand in hers and squeezed gently. "We do, Sirius. Believe me, we do."

"Tomorrow night, then?"

James nodded. "My grandfather's house. It's been empty since he died--" James had lost his entire family to the Death Eaters; the Potters had always hated the Dark Arts, and that stance had cost them dearly over the past few years. Unlike the Blacks, Sirius thought bitterly, who had lost two sons, yet only cared about their diminished prestige.

Sirius reached out and grabbed James's hand. "I'll be there."

He rose, accepted a brief but bone-crushing hug from Lily, and peeked in at Harry, who slept peacefully, thumb in his mouth. Harry's forehead was still unscarred, and Sirius fervently hoped what he'd just done would keep it that way. He left James and Lily wrapped in each other's arms and tried to figure out what to do next. 

He remembered this night so well. In Azkaban, reliving it endlessly, his feeling of triumph had always mutated into despair, the warm glow of Lily's hair in the firelight and the steely determination in James's tired eyes replaced by the memory of their bodies, stiff and cold and dead, all because of him and his arrogant, stupid plan.

Now he was jittery -- every wizard learned that messing about with time was dangerous and highly illegal, and while Sirius had no problem disregarding laws he didn't agree with, and rarely gave thought to his own personal safety, he had no idea what was actually going on, and he needed to know.

Instead of heading to the Hungry Horklump to meet Peter as he had done the first time around, Sirius Apparated to Hogsmeade and charmed Madam Rosmerta into letting him use the private Floo in her office.

He knelt on the cold flagstones before the hearth, took a deep breath, tossed in the Floo powder and shouted, "Albus Dumbledore's office." Poking his head in, he said, "Headmaster? 

Dumbledore appeared, eyes bright behind his glinting spectacles. "Sirius? Is something wrong?"

"Can I see you? Privately?"

"Of course, of course. Let me just--" He mumbled something Sirius didn't catch. "You may come through now, Sirius."

Another handful of Floo powder and Sirius was in the Headmaster's office, a place he'd spent a little too much time in during his days as a student. Dumbledore sat with his elbows on his desk, long white fingers steepled in front of his chin.

"What can I do for you?"

Sirius shook himself free of soot and sat down. "You're a Legilimens, yeah?"

Dumbledore inclined his head. He didn't seem surprised that Sirius knew, but then, the old man rarely seemed surprised by anything. "Yes."

Sirius shifted, crossing one leg over the other, then putting his foot on the floor again, trying to get comfortable in the chair, in his own skin. "I need you to, you know, read my mind." Dumbledore's eyebrows rose and Sirius shrugged a shoulder. "A little over an hour ago, I was dueling with Bellatrix Lestrange in the Department of Mysteries, trying to protect Harry and his friends from Death Eaters, and--" he ran a hand through his hair and closed his eyes, recalling the scene, "I was laughing." He shook his head in disbelief. "Laughing about it, because it was the first time I'd been out of that stupid house in months. Bella's faster than she used to be, because she hit me with a Stunning spell, and I fell." He swallowed hard, seeing it in his mind's eye. "I fell through the veil."

"Sirius, look at me." Dumbledore's voice was gentle, but it was a command, nonetheless.

Sirius opened his eyes and met Dumbledore's knowing blue gaze. 

Images flashed through his mind -- Harry, James, Lily. Remus and Peter, the rat escaping during the full moon as Remus changed. Dementors closing in on him and Harry. Laughing as he confronted Peter, the endless grey days and nights of his time in Azkaban. Padfoot. Kreacher. Bursts of light and the flutter of black cloth, and _falling falling falling._

"Sirius. Sirius, are you all right?"

He was sprawled on the floor of the Headmaster's office, face wet with tears, gasping for breath. He raised himself slowly into the chair he'd fallen out of, and covered his face with trembling hands.

Dumbledore offered him a snowy linen handkerchief, and Fawkes fluttered over to rest his head on Sirius's knee, crooning softly.

"Lemon sherbet?" Dumbledore said when Sirius had pulled himself back together.

"No, thank you, sir." Sirius found it somewhat ironic that for once, his mother had been right. Manners that had been drilled into him at an early age (and conveniently ignored for many years thereafter) carried him through the awkwardness of the situation until he'd got back his usual aplomb.

Dumbledore nodded and sat back, absently tapping his chin with his index finger. Occasionally he said, "Hmm," or "Yes, I see."

After what seemed like an hour of this (though it was only five minutes or so), Sirius shifted about impatiently. "Sir? What is going on?"

The Headmaster started, as if he'd forgotten Sirius were there. "Sirius. Yes, I see now."

"See what?"

"The veil-- it is not, as we always thought, a doorway into death. No, nothing that simple." He touched a small silver astrolabe on his desk, sending the _rete_ revolving. "I believe it sent you back for some purpose. It sent you here -- well, to the Potters' -- and it sent you now, on this night, when this fateful decision was taken. That was not random. And you have already changed the course of events as you know them to have happened. I must do some research into the matter, but I believe you have perhaps changed things for the better." He rose, shaking his head. "Pettigrew, the spy. I did not think he was so far gone as that, though I knew his commitment was wavering."

Sirius rose also, in anger. "You _knew_ ," he sputtered, "you _knew_ and you didn't _say anything_?"

Dumbledore raised a hand to quiet him. "I know he's been talking of leaving the Order. He is anxious about the toll this war is taking on his family and his friends--"

"His _friends_." The words made Sirius's stomach roil; he thought he might be sick right on Dumbledore's desk. "That traitorous little _rat_ \--"

"Sirius, please, calm yourself."

"Headmaster--"

"I believe you have averted that outcome, at any rate." Another touch and the astrolabe stopped spinning. Sirius wondered what secrets it would tell the old man after he left. "Go, rest. You must prepare for tomorrow night. I shall be in touch with you as events warrant, but I think you have done what you were meant to do, and now the string must play itself out as it will."

Sirius took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. He shook his head. "I don't-- I'm not sure I understand."

"'There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy.'"

That sounded vaguely familiar, like something Remus might have said to him once, but Sirius couldn't place it. "What?"

" _Hamlet_. By that famous and talented Muggle, Mr. Shakespeare. Oh well, no doubt young Lupin will be familiar with it. You must ask him." Dumbledore ushered him to the Floo, and Sirius returned to the Three Broomsticks, only slightly less confused than he'd been when he'd left.

He went home ( _home_ , he thought with a thrill, his tiny, half-furnished flat in Camden, not the horror of number twelve, Grimmauld Place), but instead of getting some rest as Dumbledore had advised, he took  the motorbike out for what he imagined could be his last ride, and headed to Remus's. He needed to see Remus, tell him he wasn't a suspect, tell him he was sorry he'd ever believed he could be the spy. Tell him goodbye.

He worked out a quick speech on the brief ride to Remus's, but Remus wasn't home when he arrived. He miniaturized the motorbike and left it sitting on the kitchen table. He figured it said everything he needed to say.

***

After they performed the Fidelius Charm, Sirius spent three days in Munich and three more in Lisbon before continuing south and west to someplace warm.

He'd been in Jamaica a week, too tense to relax even in the Caribbean sun, when the owl found him.

 _Come home,_ the letter said, in James's sloppy scrawl. _We've won._

He arrived in London half an hour later, after stops in Caracas, Casablanca and Antwerp to throw off anyone who might have been following, to find Diagon Alley alight with fireworks and celebrations.

At Order headquarters, in the flat upstairs from Fortescue's, he found Mad-Eye Moody holding forth, flask of firewhisky in hand, while Hagrid and Elphias Doge toasted him with snifters of brandy the size of crystal balls.

"Sirius Black!" Hagrid said, clapping him on the shoulder hard enough to send him stumbling halfway across the room. "You'll be wanting a drink to celebrate with us, won't you?"

"I--" Sirius started, and Doge produced another glass and shoved it into his hand. Sirius tightened his grip on it, cool and smooth against his palm. "Where are James and Lily? What about Dumbledore?"

"Great man, Dumbledore," Hagrid replied. "He's at Hogwarts, of course."

Sirius waved a hand impatiently. He'd had little doubt the old man would land on his feet. He always did. "And James and Lily?"

"Come on, Black. Use your head for once. If you of all people can't find 'em," Moody growled meaningfully, and Sirius felt his ears burn in embarrassment.

He closed his eyes and concentrated, focusing on the secret hidden deep inside his soul. Suddenly, he could see James and Lily -- they looked all right, but James was pacing worriedly and Lily was sitting at the bedside of someone who was wrapped in bandages. They were at St. Mungo's; Sirius had been there often enough to recognize the small, dingy rooms that never seemed to get enough light even in the daytime.

"Oh, God. _Moony_." The changes he'd made had saved James and Lily, but would they lose Remus instead? The idea made him queasy.

He Apparated to the room he'd just seen. Lily and James jumped at his appearance, then enveloped him in tearful hugs (though James would later deny that he had done most of the crying).

"What happened?" Sirius demanded, casting fearful looks at the still, pale figure on the bed. "Is he all right?"

James and Lily exchanged worried glances. James shrugged one shoulder and wrapped his other arm around his wife. 

"It was touch and go for a while, but he's all right now. He lost a lot of blood."

"What happened?" Sirius asked again.

James pushed a hand through his already disheveled hair. "After you left, Dumbledore told us he had reason to believe Peter was the spy." James's face twisted in anger, hurt and disbelief. "Peter! The little rat." Sirius let loose a snarl of his own at that. "So we had Remus tell him there'd been a switch at the last minute -- you'd gone into hiding, but you were only a decoy, and Remus was actually the Secret Keeper." He shook his head. "Nobody sells a lie like good old Moony."

Sirius nodded. It had been one reason he'd suspected Remus in the first place, though Sirius had always been better than the others at catching out Remus's lies and half-truths.

"The Death Eaters picked Remus up that night -- they did this to him -- and he passed on the information Dumbledore had given him. Voldemort walked right into the trap, and most of his Death Eaters with him."

"What? Wait--"

Lily patted Sirius's arm. "We were waiting for him, Dumbledore, James and I. McGonagall and Moody, and nearly everyone else in the Order."

"It was tricky for a bit -- could have used you and Moony both during the dueling," James admitted, "but we did it. He's dead and the majority of his followers are either dead or awaiting trial."

"Wormtail?"

"Voldemort killed him himself, after he discovered they'd walked right into our trap on Peter's word," James said with savage satisfaction.

Sirius closed his eyes at the surge of joy rising in him. "And Harry?"

"Harry's safe. He's visiting my sister." Lily made a moue of distaste. "Dumbledore insisted upon it, for some reason. We're picking him up after we leave here tonight."

"What about the prophecy?"

Lily looked at him scornfully. "Did you really think I'd let some stupid bit of Divination -- some ridiculous _prophecy_ \-- determine the course of Harry's life?"

Sirius looked at James, because even though they'd mocked Divination mercilessly in school, they'd grown up hearing stories of true prophecies; both of them had seen what had happened to Gerard McRooney in fifth year, when he'd ignored Professor Aristander's warnings and gone swimming in the lake. His body had never surfaced.

James shrugged one shoulder. "We make our own fate, Padfoot," he said quietly. "Isn't that what you said when you left home?"

Sirius nodded again, because he _had_ said that, but he wasn't sure he'd ever really believed it. Until now. It was too much to take in all at once. His head hurt with trying to realign everything he'd known -- everything he'd lived -- with this completely different reality. He wondered if this was what it had felt like for Remus that night in the Shrieking Shack.

That night would never happen now.

He'd done it. He'd fixed his mistake. He wondered what came next. He didn't realize he'd asked it out loud until Lily answered.

"What's next? Why, we make sure Remus gets well, and then we celebrate," Lily said fiercely.

"And now that you're here, we'll go rescue Harry from Petunia's bony clutches." James glanced at Remus, who hadn't moved or made a sound during this recital. "Mrs. Lupin should be back in the morning. She was up with him nearly all night last night, so we sent her to the Leaky Cauldron to get some sleep." 

James pulled him into another tight embrace, and Sirius clung to him, still barely able to believe that this was real. 

When they were gone, he settled into the chair Lily had been sitting in, and let himself relax for the first time in a very long time.

***

He woke when the nurses came in to check on Remus, and found that Remus had woken as well.

"Maybe if you're nice," Remus whispered, eyes shining and voice hoarse from lack of use, "they'll give you a sponge bath when they're done with me."

Sirius raised an eyebrow at the pretty witches, who blushed and giggled as they shooed him out. He refused to go, though. "Nothing I haven't seen before," he said, remembering cold mornings on the floor of the Shrieking Shack, curled up around Remus's naked body. Remus always said Padfoot's warmth was better than half a dozen blankets.

The blonde turned to Remus. "Mr. Lupin?"

Remus lifted his unbandaged hand, and Sirius took it without thinking, gently cradling it between his own hands. "He can stay. And please, call me Remus." 

She smiled brilliantly and kept up a steady stream of innocuous chatter as she and the dark-haired nurse washed Remus around his various bandages. The dark-haired one shot Sirius some flirtatious glances. After the first shock of realizing he was young and attractive again rather than gaunt and broken, he felt oddly uncomfortable trying to pull while Remus lay naked and injured and holding his hand, so he ignored her.

When they were done, Remus shifted around and sighed. "I'd give my right arm for a cup of tea," he said mournfully. 

Sirius opened his mouth to argue, but didn't have the heart for it. A cup of tea couldn't hurt, and if it was the only thing Remus wanted right now, Sirius could easily give it to him. Of course, he wasn't going to let Remus know he'd won so easily.

"Yeah, that does sound good," he said, rising from the chair. "Think I'll fetch one. Too bad you're probably not supposed to have any. But you can watch me drink mine."

He saw the pillow hit the floor as he closed the door behind him, and hoped Remus had his wand so he could get it back before Sirius returned. On his way to the tearoom, he overheard the nurses talking.

"Such a waste, that handsome Sirius Black, shagging a bloke," the brunette said, causing him to stop dead. He dropped down on one knee to tie his shoe so he could continue to listen, unseen.

"I think it's sweet," the blonde replied. "Remus needs someone looking after him. When I worked down in Casualty, he was in at least once a month with injuries, sometimes more." She sighed. "He must have been off fighting You-Know-Who even then."

"That's all well and good, Martha, but it's still a shame he's got that fit bloke, and you and I are going begging for men."

"Speak for yourself," Martha sniffed. "I'm doing all right." And Sirius moved away quickly, before they could spot him.

As he waited in the queue to pay for the tea, he thought about what the nurses had said. He'd known Remus was gay for years, though Remus had never actually come out and told him until they'd been packing up Remus's flat to move into Grimmauld Place, and Sirius had found some pictures of Remus and an old boyfriend. He'd known it the same way he'd figured out Remus was a werewolf -- he'd paid attention and learned everything he could about his friends. The first time around, it was just one more secret Remus was keeping, one more reason to believe him the spy, but Sirius could now see how foolish he'd been.

When Sirius came back, Remus was still awake. "Please tell me you brought me some tea," he said. 

Sirius, hiding his purchases, said, "Now, Moony, you know you're not supposed to--"

Remus glared at him. "Bollocks, Black. Hand it over."

Sirius laughed and produced the paper cup from behind his back. "Tea, with cream and an ungodly amount of sugar." He put both cups on the bedside table and leaned over to help Remus sit up against the pillows.

While he'd taken care of Remus for nearly as long as he'd known Remus was a werewolf, he was suddenly aware of how it might appear to others, to people who didn't know how special Remus was, and how they were friends and he always helped Remus with everything, because that's what you did for friends, and nobody was ever a better friend than Sirius Black.  
   
No wonder those birds thought he was queer. 

Remus sipped at his tea and sighed again, this time in pleasure. "God, that's good. Makes everything all right again, doesn't it?"

Sirius laughed and waved his wand at the chair, which transformed into a squashy red velvet armchair that would be much more comfortable than the straight-backed, cushion-less thing the hospital provided. He sank into it, and yawned.

"So the nurses think we're shagging," he said after swallowing a mouthful of his own, barely sweetened tea. "Isn't that hilarious?"

Remus's eyes widened with something that looked like fear, but then his face went completely blank, and Sirius told himself he'd imagined it.

"Yeah," Remus answered with a laugh that sounded more like a choking cough. "Hilarious."

Sirius put his cup down and leaned forward. "Listen, it's all right. I mean, I know about-- I know you're--"

"Queer? A shirt-lifter? A poof?" Remus asked bitterly. 

"Bent, yeah," Sirius replied with a shrug. "I don't care. I mean, I shagged Eglantine Biddle in sixth year. I can't really say anything. She may as well have been a man." That won him a more genuine laugh. "And anyway, I have more important things to be angry with you about." 

Remus raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. 

"You almost got yourself killed, dammit." Sirius flung himself out of the chair and started pacing, too frightened by what could have happened to remain still. Just thinking about it sent a cold shiver of fear down his spine. "I didn't come back--" He stopped. He couldn't tell Moony that, could he? Dumbledore hadn't said, and time travel was one of the most dangerous forms of magic. He dropped that line of thought and moved to the side of the bed, where he could glare down at Remus. "What are you, some kind of hero? I expect that shite from Prongs, but you're supposed to be brighter than that."

Another laugh, this one rueful. "Oh yes, Padfoot, I actively set out to get myself tortured to within an inch of my life."

Sirius turned and pointed an accusing finger at him. "You knew what was going to happen when you agreed to pose as the Secret Keeper. You're lucky to even be here for me to yell at."

Remus dropped his gaze and busied himself with putting his half-empty cup of tea on the bedside table. "I was hoping Dumbledore was wrong about Peter," he mumbled.  He looked up again, but not at Sirius. He stared out the window at the evening sky. "I thought it couldn't be worse than the transformation. I didn't think anything could be worse than that." He swallowed hard, and Sirius felt his anger drain away. He sank down onto the edge of the bed and reached for Remus's good hand. "I didn't expect-- You can't imagine--" He shuddered, and Sirius didn't want to imagine, because he'd _seen_ the agony of the transformation, and thinking of Remus suffering something _worse_ , when _he_ was the one who should have been tortured, made him feel sick. Remus clutched his fingers tightly, strong even in his weakness. "I only got out because of Snape." Now Sirius's fingers tightened as well. "They'd left me for dead. Snape put me on the motorbike and sent me off after the others were gone. Saved my life."

"Fucking Snivellus." The words were a low growl. Just because they were allegedly on the same side didn't mean Sirius had to like it.

Remus cocked his head. "You don't seem surprised -- you knew he was working for Dumbledore?"

"I-- ah," Sirius mumbled. He hadn't known then, hadn't even suspected. And he still didn't trust the greasy bastard.

"If I'd known you knew, I wouldn't have kept it a secret." Remus shook his head. "I was helping him get information to the Order."

It all clicked into place. "All those mysterious meetings you wouldn't talk about--" Sirius rubbed his forehead.  

"Yeah." Remus disentangled his hand from Sirius's so he could pick up his cup of tea, and Sirius felt oddly bereft, his fingers cold where they'd been wrapped up in Remus's warmth.

"Too many secrets. Too many," Sirius said, more to himself than to Remus, but Remus nodded. 

"All's well that ends well," Remus replied with a half-smile, and Sirius could only agree.

***

The Leaky Cauldron was packed. What had started out as a small party to welcome Remus home from the hospital had turned into yet another celebration of Voldemort's defeat, and it seemed like half of wizarding Britain -- the younger half -- was crammed into the old pub, drinking and dancing and snogging in the darker corners.

Sirius was planning on doing some snogging himself. It had been a long time -- longer than he even cared to think about, but his body was young and strong, no longer the broken shell left by twelve years in Azkaban, and he was going to take advantage of it.

Remus had invited the nurses who'd cared for him, and all evening, Sirius had been circling the brunette, whom he'd learned was named Charlotte, waiting for the right moment to pounce.

She'd just separated herself from the blonde and was heading toward the bar when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Turning, he found himself looking into Remus's flushed, smiling face.

"Padfoot, have you got a minute?"

Sirius cast a longing glace back at Charlotte, and then turned back to Remus. "Anything for you, Moony."  Remus smiled and fidgeted, something he only did when nervous. "Is something wrong? Do you not feel well? Do you want to leave?"

"No, no, I'm fine." Remus pushed his too-long fringe out of his eyes and shifted again. "I just, I promised myself, when I was lying in that dungeon, that I would tell you--"

"There you are!" Charlotte pressed herself up against Sirius, and Sirius was half-tempted to push her away, because couldn't she _see_ he was talking to _Moony_? But then he remembered what she'd said that first day in the hospital and, recalling his hopes for the rest of the evening, wrapped an arm around her waist instead. "I hope I'm not interrupting," she said cheerfully.

Remus shook his head, his smile smaller and less bright than it had been. "No, of course not. I'll let you two--" He made a vague gesture and walked away, shoulders hunching as if he were hurt, which gave Sirius an odd ache in his chest. 

"Remus, are you sure you're all right?" 

He looked back and smiled again, though Sirius could see it was forced. "I'll talk to you later, Sirius. Have a good night."

Sirius felt bad, but not bad enough to call him back again, not with Charlotte warm and soft in his arms.

If he thought about Remus rather more than he ever expected to that night (which was at all), while he was fucking Charlotte, and then after, as she curled against him and he rolled away, he told himself it was only natural. She'd been the one to plant the idea of sex with Remus in his head, and he told himself it wasn't Remus he was getting hard for whenever the idea came up.

***

As the months passed, Sirius settled into his old-new life fairly easily. After the first whirl of ecstatic celebration and the somewhat slower round of trials for the Death Eaters who'd been captured the night of Voldemort's defeat, he found himself at loose ends, a wealthy young man with no war to fight and no job to keep him busy. He poured his considerable energy into being the best friend and godfather he could possibly be, and tried not to think too much about what the future might bring.

He still occasionally wondered if he'd finally gone mad in Azkaban, and everything -- his escape, his reunion with Moony and Harry, the year in Grimmauld Place -- was just a product of his shattered mind. 

Dumbledore asked to meet with him, "to discuss the ramifications of your unique experience, and make sure you are adjusting to your new circumstances," as the old man put it, but Sirius brushed him off. He'd paid for his mistakes in blood -- James and Lily's, Remus's, Harry's and his own. He deserved this happiness, this second chance, and he wasn't going to question it too closely.

But it was too real to be a dream -- he knew the scent of Lily's perfume, the feel of Harry's tiny, sticky fingers tangling in Padfoot's fur, the sound of James's laughter, the sight of Remus's smile, bright and unshadowed now. It was real and it was his and he wished he had a Pensieve so he could store every moment in crystal clarity rather than losing them to the endless reaching hands of time that made the edges blur and fade.

He woke sometimes shaking and sweating from nightmares of Azkaban, of seeing James and Lily dead. If Charlotte wasn't there with him, he would curl up in the bed as Padfoot, and dream dog dreams of chasing rabbits through soft, fragrant grass. 

He had expected memories of his other life to fade as the world remade itself on the new course he'd set the night he'd come back. At least, that's what seemed to happen in the Muggle books Remus had always brought to school with him and Sirius had always read so he'd know what Remus was yammering on about. Stupid Muggles. What the hell did they know about time travel?

Some nights, when he couldn't settle down even as Padfoot, he'd Apparate over to Remus's flat and curl up at the end of _his_ bed. It was an even trade, he figured -- he warmed Remus's feet and Remus scratched behind his ears just the way he liked it. And Remus usually made him breakfast, too, which was more than he could say for Charlotte.

This particular night looked to be turning into one of those nights, as he woke tangled in sweat-dampened sheets and lay awake for what felt like forever. Realizing his mind and heart were still racing and he wasn't going to fall asleep that way, he pulled on a pair of pajama bottoms and Apparated to Remus's.

Sirius swore he would never forget the sight that met his eyes when he arrived in Remus's bedroom, not even if he lived a thousand lives. Remus was bent over another man, chest to back, hips thrusting erratically, one hand clutching the man's hip, the other wrapped around his cock, long fingers pale against glistening chestnut skin.

The crack of Apparation startled them, and they collapsed onto the bed, which groaned in protest. They rolled away from each other, scrambling for the sheets. Remus fell off the side of the bed and landed on his arse with a thump, staring up at Sirius in shock for one long, uncomfortable moment.

"Jesus fucking Christ," Sirius managed before Disapparating away.

He paced around his bedroom in agitation, because now he'd never fall asleep, not with the image of Remus fucking someone else (Vijay Srivasatva, Ravenclaw keeper, his brain supplied) burned into his brain. He'd never imagined Remus having sex -- okay, that was blatantly a lie, but there was a huge difference between imagining it ( _Remus kneeling between his thighs, soft, thin lips wrapped around his cock_ ) and actually _seeing_ it, like the difference between learning the theory behind Apparation and finally doing it for the first time, feeling that panic-inducing nothingness for an instant before arriving at his destination.

He managed to get a little sleep curled up on the hearth as a dog, but under the hot spray of the shower, he found his body responding to the images he couldn't stop replaying in his mind. Except instead of seeing Remus's hands splayed out on Vijay Srivasatva's nut-brown skin, he imagined them on his own body, clutching his hip, stroking his cock, Remus's mouth growling his name, and pressing hot kisses to his neck and shoulders.

He brought himself off and then leaned his forehead against the cool tile, wondering what the hell was going on. He'd never looked at Moony that way before, that he could recall. He'd taken full advantage of being young, wealthy and good-looking the first time around, and Remus had never been someone to take advantage of. He was too close a friend to fuck and forget about. And after Azkaban, Sirius hadn't looked at _anybody_ that way. He hadn't even been able to masturbate until he'd been out of that hellhole for a few months, and even then, it hadn't been very satisfying.

Now, though, he felt himself getting hard _again_ at thoughts of Remus -- Remus as he was here and now, and the Remus he'd known in his other life, worn and thin and greying, but still beautiful somehow, to anyone who knew him as well as Sirius did. 

And he'd just thought of Remus as beautiful.

" _Fuck_."

He was pretty sure no matter what he did he was going to make a right mess of things.

***

Sirius hadn't intended to avoid Remus after his realization that day in the shower, but the more time they spent together, the more confused he became. He stopped seeing Charlotte, who had noticed his waning interest and commented acidly upon it. He actually went out a few times and pulled blokes in clubs that, just a few weeks before, he'd have been too embarrassed to admit he knew existed, just to see if it was some sort of weird phase he was going through. And he finally admitted to himself that he had always found some men attractive, though he'd tried to never consciously acknowledge it before. While the sex had been decent (if a little awkward at first), it just made things worse. Because now that he had a solid idea of what it would feel like to actually shag Moony, his fantasies became almost unbearably detailed and vivid.

Luckily (or, perhaps, unluckily, Sirius couldn't quite make up his mind), Remus wasn't hard to avoid, probably still embarrassed over the incident and always so protective of his dignity. So what with one thing and another, they saw each other less often than they ever had before, even less than during that dark time when Sirius had suspected Remus of being the spy.

Lily and James both asked him about it, and he brushed them off with feigned obliviousness, but as the first full moon since the incident approached, Sirius couldn't help but feel nervous. 

Remus was obviously feeling the same, because the day before, he arrived unexpectedly at Sirius's flat and though he seemed perfectly serene on the surface, Sirius knew him well enough to see the signs of his distress.

"I was thinking perhaps it'd be best if you don't come tomorrow night," he began, not meeting Sirius's eyes and not sitting down, choosing instead to stand by the fireplace, as if he wanted to leave just as quickly as he'd come. "James can't make it -- he's got a family commitment, so I'll use my mother's basement. She--"

Sirius felt his heart seize in his chest. "I'm not leaving you alone," he answered fiercely. "For twelve years--" He stopped at the puzzled frown on Remus's face, and remembered that his other life had never happened -- would never happen now. "I just-- you know it's better when I'm there, even if you insist on being locked up. Your mother has had enough to deal with lately." Remus ducked his head and looked up at him through the hair in his eyes, and Sirius could tell he was weakening. Remus never had been able to hold out against him. "Remus, please. Let me help you." 

Remus exhaled loudly and Sirius knew he'd won. Remus lowered his gaze. "Okay. I just-- I'm sorry about--"

"Sorry? What do you have to be sorry about?" _Except for fucking a bloke who isn't me?_ But Sirius couldn't say that. Remus had no idea that Sirius was beginning to fancy him -- and Sirius didn't plan to enlighten him. "I shouldn't have popped in like that. It was-- rude or something." A weak excuse, since Sirius had never given a damn about rudeness before, but it was all he could think of.

At that, Remus looked up, alarmed. "No! I mean, no, it's all right. Please don't stop coming over whenever you want to. I don't mind at all."

"But--"

"I was going to break it off with Vijay anyway." Sirius sucked in a deep, hopeful breath, but then Remus said, "It's been two months. He's going to figure it out soon, and I don't want to lie to him. I like him too much for that." 

Sirius's throat tightened. It was hard to force the words out, but he was a good friend -- he prided himself on that fact -- so he managed it. "If he really likes you, he wouldn't care." He raised a hand, wanting to offer the comfort of touch, but then dropped it, unsure it would be welcome.

Remus shook his head. "Not everyone's like you, Padfoot," he said softly, and Sirius wished he could make the pain in Remus's eyes disappear. Remus took a deep breath and said, "Enough of that nonsense. Tomorrow at my mother's, then? Shall I tell her you're coming for dinner? I'm sure she'll make something you like." 

Sirius summoned up a smile. "I wouldn't miss your mum's cooking for the world."

***

It was a rough night, but they'd had worse. The wolf didn't like being locked up, but Padfoot's presence had kept him from mauling himself too badly after the first few moments of disorientation that accompanied the change. They'd wrestled playfully for a while, then curled up together to sleep. It was not quite as easy as when Remus had the Wolfsbane potion, but easier on him than it would have been had Padfoot not been there. At moonset, when the transformation had ended and Remus was shuddering and crying, Sirius carried him up into the house and gently cleaned his wounds. He found himself on the verge of tears himself, at the thought of Remus doing this alone for twelve years, and perhaps, on the other side of the veil, doing it alone again. 

But no, that would never happen now. He had changed things, and he would continue to change things. He wished he had more information on the Wolfsbane potion itself, but perhaps a visit to Dumbledore -- even to Snivellus -- could help speed that along. 

He put Remus to bed and curled up around him, wishing he could do it in human form, but content for now to provide whatever warmth and comfort he could as Padfoot. For now, that would have to be enough.

***

Harry's second birthday was fast approaching, but it was only when Lily mentioned that the Longbottom kid's birthday was the day before that Sirius remembered -- Bellatrix was still on the loose, and even though the world was different now, she was still a danger.

He went to see Dumbledore, to explain what had happened to the Longbottoms ( _what_ might _happen_ , he told himself, _everything's different now_ ), and while at Hogwarts, he made a stop at the Potions dungeon.

Snape was no happier to see him now than he'd ever been before, in any life. There had never been any rational explanation for their mutual hatred; it just _was_ , and they accepted it. Reveled in it, sometimes, to Remus's frustration.

"I know you're working on a potion for werewolves," Sirius said, keeping tight rein on his desire to lash out at Snape. He tossed a pouch onto Snape's worktable, which landed with a metallic _thunk_. "To aid your research. If you need more -- if you need _anything_ \-- let me know."

Snape grimaced, and Sirius knew he wanted to throw it back in his face, but Snape had always been cleverer than that. It was what Sirius would have done, but Snape had always, _always_ been Slytherin to the bone; he wouldn't refuse something that could so easily be turned to his advantage, and he knew in this instance, Sirius would let him take it.

"Eventually," he said with a smile that sent a shiver down Sirius's spine and made his hands clench into fists, "I'll need a test subject."

"You work the kinks out first," Sirius answered, clipping his words off precisely, "and I'm sure you'll have one." He turned back at the door to say, "I suppose I should thank you for saving him."

Snape's lip curled in disdain. "I didn't do it for you, Black. Or for him."

"But you still did it," Sirius said, and walked away. It was only when he reached the motorbike that he realized he'd been clenching his hands so tightly his palms bore deep, crescent-shaped indentations from his nails.

A few nights later, a small number of Aurors and members of the Order, Sirius included, were waiting for the Lestranges and Barty Crouch Jr. when they attacked the Longbottoms. The Death Eaters were stunned and bound before any of them were able to fire off a curse. 

Sirius's nightmares that night were full of Bella's mad laughter as she sent him stumbling back into the veil. He found himself at Remus's almost without thought, and he liked to think he hadn't imagined the warm, soft look in Moony's eyes when they curled up together, man and dog, but Remus was already gone by the time he woke up the next morning.

He'd left a note, though, on lined Muggle paper and written in blue Muggle ink. _Shopping for Harry's gift,_ it said in his cramped cursive. _See you at the party tonight._

***

Sirius still approached the Potters' house in Godric's Hollow with some trepidation. He wondered if he would ever stop feeling a small frisson of fear that this was all a hallucination and he was back in Azkaban or dead or something equally miserable. But he parked the motorbike, took a deep breath, and went round to the yard, where James was setting up the grill and Lily was chasing Harry across the grass.

He thought he'd be the first to arrive, but Remus was there already, lounging in the sun, his shirt undone one extra button, revealing elegant collarbones and a swathe of pale skin that made Sirius's mouth go dry.

Harry spotted him and came running to greet him. "Padfoot! Padfoot!" 

Sirius swung him up into his arms and nuzzled his neck, blowing raspberries on soft, baby skin, making Harry squeal in delight. Sirius never failed to feel an upsurge of gratitude when he ran a hand over his godson's forehead, reassuring himself it was unscarred, and even given Harry's penchant for tumbling into trouble (inherited from both parents, though Lily vehemently denied her own mischief-making activities), likely to remain so. 

"And how is the birthday boy? How old are you today, Harry?" Harry held up two fingers and Sirius laughed. "Do that as much as you can now, mate," he said, "because in a few years, your mum will yell at you when you try it."

Lily snorted and showed Sirius two fingers of her own before leaning in to kiss his cheek. He slipped an arm around her shoulders and squeezed, still overwhelmed sometimes at how wonderful it was to have her there, warm and alive, where he could touch her. 

She rested her head on his chest for a moment, across from Harry, and James shot him an indignant glare. "Keep your hands off my wife, you mangy dog." 

Sirius laughed and let Lily go. He put Harry down and romped with him a while as Padfoot, before the other guests arrived. When he finally changed back into himself, he collapsed into the lawn chair next to Remus, covered in grass stains and panting heavily.

Without a word, Remus handed him a cold bottle of butterbeer, and he drank it down greedily.

"I needed that," he said when he was done. "Thanks."

Remus smiled, and Sirius felt himself grow even warmer. "Any time." 

They stared at each other for a long moment and Sirius nearly forgot Lily and James were there, until Lily jumped up from her chair and shouted, "No, Harry! Not the begonias!" Harry looked over his shoulder at her and then turned back to digging in the dirt. She swooped down and picked him up in her arms, holding him close and pressing kisses all over his face before setting him on his feet again. He went right back to digging in the garden. 

"Remember last year?" She shuddered in spite of the heat, and Sirius recalled the sad little gathering they'd had, just the five of them and Peter. The rat. A week later, James and Lily had had to move again, because their location had been betrayed, and he had suspected Remus.

He didn't mean to growl, but Remus's hand was warm on his arm, calling him back to himself. Before he could say anything, Frank and Alice Longbottom and their boy Neville arrived, and the rest of the guests soon followed, chasing all his dark thoughts away.

Lily had gone all out with the decorations -- inside the house, it was wall-to-wall streamers and balloons, all covered with tiny broomsticks and snitches that glittered and moved. James was convinced his son was going to be a Quidditch star, and Sirius encouraged him in that belief, his chest tightening with love and pride as he watched Harry chase the paper snitches around the room, giggling whenever he managed to touch one before it could escape. 

They had cake, and then it was time to open gifts -- books from Moony, of course, which were immediately handed off to Lily for inspection, and from Sirius, a toy broom that hovered about a foot off the ground and actually flew short distances. James and Harry both lit up at the sight of it, but Lily gave Sirius a glare that sent him scurrying out of the living room in mock fear.

He wandered through the small house, lingering for a while in the nursery with its pale blue walls and borders of trains and ships, though James had been talking about redoing it with a Quidditch theme, and Lily was talking about having another baby sometime soon. It had been in here that he'd found Lily's body, a screaming Harry by her side. He shook off the recollection and reminded himself that had never happened, he had prevented it this time around.

He was staring out the window of the master bedroom, lost in pleasant thoughts of teaching Harry how to fly, when Remus said, "Sirius? Do you have a minute?"

He turned and smiled. "Anything for you, Remus."

Remus flashed him a bashful half-grin in response and shut the door behind him with a click.  "I've wanted to tell you," he began, looking down at his hands, long fingers twining nervously. "I promised myself I would, if I made it out of the Malfoy dungeon alive. Because life is too short and-- God, I hate clichés. I just--" 

Sirius's heart started to race and treacherous hope bloomed in his chest. "It's okay, Moony. Take a deep breath."

"I've been in love with you since seventh year," Remus blurted breathlessly, the words running into each other, making them difficult to understand at first.

Sirius stared at him for one long, shocked moment, not quite able to believe he'd heard correctly.

"It's okay," Remus continued miserably. "I understand if, if you don't want me hanging around anymore. Bad enough I'm a werewolf, let alone a queer, lovesick--"

Sirius closed the distance between them with two steps, grabbed Remus's shirt and pulled him close. "Stop talking," he said, and kissed him.

Remus's lips were soft and chapped, and he tasted of butterbeer and birthday cake, sweet and warm and a little wild underneath, quite possibly Sirius's new favorite flavor. 

When he pulled back, Remus looked dazed and unsure. "Sirius? What is this?"

"This," Sirius answered, leaning close to press a kiss to Remus's nose, "is me," the corner of his mouth, "kissing you," full on the lips again, his tongue slipping between to curl around Remus's, wet and warm. He slid one hand into Remus's hair, soft and shaggy over his collar, and the feel of it against his skin made Sirius shiver and whimper into Remus's mouth. He pulled gently and Remus yielded; Sirius walked them backwards until he felt the bed hit the backs of his knees.

"Sirius?" Remus asked again as Sirius pulled him down onto his lap. "You, too? When?"

"Me, too," Sirius answered. "At St. Mungo's. I--"

"But Charlotte--" 

"Broke it off with her."

"She was--" Remus's eyes were full of questions.

Sirius would have preferred to answer with lips and hands and cock, but Remus liked words, _needed_ words, so he gave them to him. "Not you." As far as Sirius was concerned, that was all that needed to be said about that. Sirius nudged Remus closer with one hand on his hip, the other wrapping around his neck to pull him down for another kiss, thrusting up to let Remus feel the evidence of his interest. Remus moaned into his mouth and ground down, and Sirius realized they were really doing this, and they were both wearing too many clothes.

"Wait," he murmured against Remus's jaw, tasting _salt-sweat-soap_ , enjoying the soft-rough feel of stubbled skin against his lips. "Wait."

"Can't wait," Remus answered, rocking his hips, making Sirius gasp and thrust in response. "Been waiting forever." 

His hands were everywhere, threading through Sirius's hair, sliding down his shoulders, ghosting along the sensitive skin of his neck, making him shiver with need.

"Remus--"

Remus's eyes were dark and hungry, and his voice was a low, desperate plea that jolted through Sirius's body like lightning. "Sirius, _please_."

"Hold on," he answered, gritting his teeth and slipping a hand between them to work at Remus's flies. "I'm trying to--"

"Oh. Oh!" Remus moaned when Sirius's fingers curled around the hard heat of his cock. "Oh," he gasped again, this time returning the favor and carefully unzipping Sirius's jeans. "Why didn't you say so?"

Sirius opened his mouth to answer, but the feel of Remus's fingers, warm and callused, deftly wrapping around his prick, made all the words disappear in a rush of sensation. They managed a jerky, awkward rhythm, mouths desperately kissing and nipping, and hands frantically stroking, because all that mattered was touch and the only air worth breathing was that which passed between them. The world narrowed to the touch of hand on cock, tongue on tongue, and then dropped away altogether as Remus arched his back and came with a great shuddering gasp that may have been Sirius's name; Sirius himself was too far gone to tell. His eyes fluttered closed as pleasure surged through him and pulsed out, one timeless moment of sheer bliss that seemed to last forever and end all too soon.

Remus slumped forward, his lips pressed to Sirius's neck and moving slowly. Sirius cradled him close and, by holding absolutely still for one of the few times in his life, thought he understood what Remus was saying ( _yours, mine, always_ ), though Remus made no sound at all.

"Remus?" he said finally, pushing Remus's sweaty fringe off his forehead.

Remus raised his head and beamed at him, brighter than the full moon he never got to see. "That was fucking brilliant."

"It was. It really was," Sirius answered, and started laughing. "Prongs is going to kill us for doing it in his bed."

Remus's eyes widened and he began laughing as well, wrapping his arms around Sirius's neck and pressing their foreheads together. He shifted his hips and Sirius caught his breath. 

"Think we could do it again?" Remus murmured, tongue tracing the whorl of Sirius's ear. 

Sirius shivered, and his answering laugh was breathless. "In for a knut, in for a sickle," he said, using hands and legs to roll Moony over so he could lie on top of him, disregarding the mess.

Then they heard James shouting, "Oi! Moony! Padfoot! Where the bloody hell have you got to?"

Sirius collapsed with laughter, body molding perfectly to Remus's beneath him as Remus sighed and began murmuring cleaning charms.

"If we stain her comforter, Lily will kill whatever's left of us after Prongs is through," he said, and Sirius had to roll over on to his back, he was laughing so hard. Finally, they managed to get themselves relatively presentable, though there was nothing they could do about the smell of sex in the humid air.

The guests were beginning to leave -- a number of them had young children of their own to put to bed (or not, after the amount of sugar they'd been fed) -- and when Remus began helping Lily wash up, Sirius went out into the yard to help James put away the grill.

James shot him an indecipherable look and then turned away, and Sirius realized he'd never discussed any of this with him, never even came close, but there was no way of hiding it now. Not with the two of them stumbling out of the bedroom in a state of blissful dishevelment and right into James. Sirius could see the muscles working in James's jaw as he cast a scouring charm on the blackened grill.

He took a deep breath and decided to get it over with. "Prongs--"

"Do you have any idea what you're doing?" James interrupted, stabbing angrily at the grill and pointedly not looking at Sirius. "This is Remus, Sirius. _Moony_. You can't just fuck and run--"

"Do you think I don't know that?" he shouted. Curtains twitched over the kitchen window and Sirius clamped his mouth shut.

"Look, I didn't even know you were-- And I don't want to know." James shoved at his glasses. "I don't care. About Remus, either. But if you bollocks this up, you're not going to be the only one who suffers. He's not going to disappear, like those bints you used to pull at the Three Broomsticks."

"Then I'll just have to make sure I don't fuck it up."

"Good." James finally looked at him. "Because Lily will gut you if you do."  

Sirius laughed, feeling the tension between them dissipate. "I'll keep that in mind."

"Do." James clapped him on the shoulder, and they headed into the house.

***

"Do you think we should talk about this?" Remus asked sleepily, curled up against Sirius's chest and nuzzling his neck.

"Nah," Sirius said. "James talked enough for both of us, I think." He pressed a kiss to the warm soft skin of Remus's clavicle, mesmerized by a small spray of freckles he'd never noticed before. "What did Lily have to say?"

Remus laughed. "Oh, about what you'd expect. Said her world was turned upside down because you are showing remarkable good sense and I am not." Remus raised his head and captured Sirius's mouth in a kiss that flooded him with warmth, a languorous slide of tongue and breath and lips. Remus pulled back slowly, and continued, "I told her it all balances out in the end." 

"And she threatened to gut me if I bollocksed this up?" 

"Of course. I told her you wouldn't." Remus settled himself against Sirius again and Sirius gathered him in.

"I won't, Remus. I promise you, I won't," he said, burying his face in Remus's hair and breathing him in.

"I know," Remus answered with a yawn. Sirius felt a sudden aching tightness in his chest at Remus's simple confidence in him.

Remus drifted off, but Sirius stayed awake a long time, watching him, holding him, too amazed at his good fortune to sleep.

*** 

Remus moved in shortly thereafter, and Sirius realized he had the life he'd always hoped for and had never quite expected to get. 

As the years passed, it wasn't hard to convince himself that his other life had been a dream, and this was the only life he'd ever known.

***

It was Christmas Eve, and Sirius was in Diagon Alley looking for a last minute gift for Harry's new girlfriend when two unremarkable men dressed in plain black robes accosted him. 

"Sirius Black?" one of them said. He nodded, though he had the feeling it wasn't really a question. "It's time."

"Time?"

The other wouldn't meet his eyes. "Time to go back."

Cold fear gripped him. "Go back _where_?" 

"Where you came from. You've seen enough here." 

"Too much, probably," the second man said.

"Those aren't our decisions to make," the first one reprimanded.

"I don't-- I don't understand." His heart raced and the metallic taste of fear filled his mouth as old, long-forgotten memories flooded his mind. "I don't want to go back." _Not Azkaban, anywhere but Azkaban._

"Of course you don't. That's what comes of letting you stay too long. But it's back you must go. That's how it works."

"Cigarette?"

He took it, though he didn't smoke often, because Remus hated the smell, and realized his mistake an instant too late, when he felt the jerking sensation of a portkey being activated.

The floor beneath his knees and fingers was cold stone, and he knew when he opened his eyes he would see the archway, and the veil.

It fluttered in the same way it had before, though no breeze disturbed the air in the chamber.

"Please," he said, rising to his feet. And again, "Please."

The two men exchanged glances, and Sirius thought he saw a flash of sympathy, but they didn't relent. 

"Don't make this harder than it has to be," the first one said.

"This way really is best for all concerned," the other added.

"But, but-- Moony--" he said as they pushed, and he fell through the veil.

***

"Moony," he said, falling forward onto his hands and knees on the stone floor of the chamber, the veil fluttering behind him.

"You're late."

"It's not as if he had a choice."

Sirius looked up to see the same two men, looking older, harder, wearier. "I don't, I don't understand," he rose slowly. His body ached and his center of gravity seemed off, as if he had lost a lot of weight very quickly. 

He pushed his hair out of his face and noticed it was brushing his shoulders. He looked at his hands and saw bony fingers with bitten-down nails, and ashy skin pulled too tight over prominent knuckles. 

"Oh," he said, understanding suddenly. "Oh."

"Listen closely," the first man said. "You are being given a chance most people never get. Use it wisely."

"I have one question," he said, when the man was done. "What about my life -- there?" He gestured at the veil with one hand. "Am I... do they think I'm dead?"

"No, Mr. Black," the second man said. "Your other life continues -- that version of you existed before and continues to exist afterward, following the path of the changes you made."

Sirius felt weak with relief. Remus wouldn't be alone, wouldn't think Sirius had left him without a word of explanation.

"On the other hand, here they think you've been dead for two years."

Sirius's stomach turned and he thought he was going to be sick right there. "Sweet mother of Merlin! Harry and Remus think-- Fuck." He had to get back to Grimmauld Place, fast.

***

No one was in when Sirius got there, and the locking spells had been changed. He cleared a space in the snow with his hands and sat down on the stoop, shivering. His winter coat was gone, his wand with it. He was wearing, as far as he could tell, the clothes he'd worn the day he'd fallen through the veil in the first place.

He huddled there on the steps and told himself he hadn't dreamt it all, it had happened, and if he were lucky, someday he'd have a life like that again. But first he had to help Harry, however he could.

He looked up at the sound of voices, which carried in the cold night air. Clinging to Bill Weasley's arm was a very pregnant Tonks, who stared at him for a moment before saying, "Sirius?" 

"Yeah," he answered softly, unable to say anything more due to the lump in his throat. He raised his head and met Remus's eyes over Tonks's shoulder as she bent to hug him.

Remus came running toward them, slipping in the snow, looking older, thinner, greyer than the Remus Sirius had just left behind, but still his Remus nonetheless. Or not. And that thought left Sirius colder than the snow still drifting down around them.

Beyond Remus stood Harry, frozen in place, green eyes wide behind dark frames. Sirius stared at him for a moment, so much like the boy he'd watched grow up, and yet wiser and sadder.

And then Remus was kneeling before him, laughing and crying, hands grasping hard at Sirius's knees. Sirius took those hands in his, squeezing tightly, searching those shining eyes -- there was joy, yes, and sorrow, and love, too, but not quite the same love Sirius was used to seeing.

Everyone gathered round, laughing and talking at once -- Ron and Hermione, a handful of Weasleys, even Dumbledore. Harry took one of Sirius's hands from Remus and clasped it between his own.

"Sirius, oh God, Sirius," Harry whispered in his ear in a voice so shot through with love and pain that Sirius wanted to cry. "Thank God, you're back. I missed you." _I needed you,_ was left unspoken, but it came through loud and clear. "Don't leave again, please?"

"I won't," he answered hoarsely, pulling Harry into a hug with one arm and Remus with the other, breathing them in. They wouldn't let go of him, and he understood -- he had been dead to them, and now he was back, and they wanted to make sure he was real. He had often done the same to James and Lily in his other life.

Later, when it was nearly four in the morning and everyone had gone to bed after talking in the kitchen for hours, Sirius curled up next to Harry and watched him sleep, the way he had when Harry was a small child, and he'd been afraid to leave him alone for too long, in case he stopped breathing or the world ended while he wasn't looking.

Remus sat on the edge of the bed with them, close enough to touch and yet so very far away. Sirius was torn. He wanted to stay with Harry, make him feel safe and loved, the way he should have always felt. But Sirius also wanted to launch himself into Remus's arms, lay him down and kiss him all over until they were naked and breathless and boneless with satisfaction.

But in this world, Harry had no one else, and therefore, he always had to come first.

Sirius accepted the lie that there were no clean sheets, no other bedrooms ready. He didn't much want to leave Harry either. 

"He's grown up," Sirius murmured, guilt and sorrow edging his voice. "And I wasn't here."

"He loves you," Remus answered, twining their fingers together. 

Sirius's heart stuttered slightly at the familiar touch. He clung to Remus's hand. "Tell me what happened."

So Remus told him. He drifted in and out, more interested in the shape of Remus's lips, the gentle sound of his voice, the way his eyes and hair shone a soft golden brown in the flickering candlelight, the grey hidden for now, than the grisly details of the war they were fighting. He cried when Remus told him of the deaths -- so many lost to Voldemort's madness, and so much still to lose, all of it resting on Harry's narrow shoulders.

Harry had needed him -- they all had -- and once again, he had been nowhere to be found.

When Remus was finished, Sirius reached out for him, pulled him into a tight embrace, burying his face in the comforting curve of Remus's neck. Remus murmured reassurances against his ear, and he let his lips ghost over Remus's collarbone, tasting that so-familiar spray of freckles and the salt tang of Remus's skin. He closed his eyes against the pain when Remus tensed at the touch of his lips.

Remus smelled the same, but different. He still used the same Muggle soap he'd always liked, but there was nothing of Sirius in his scent. During the years they'd lived together, slept together, worn each other's clothes, their scents had mixed and mingled until Sirius could barely tell them apart, they were _SiriusandRemus_ , _MoonyandPadfoot_ , and now, in this life, they were not. Sirius wept for that loss, as well. He held onto the secret hope that someday, in this life, it would be that way again.

"Happy Christmas, Remus," he said softly.

Remus's voice was hoarse when he answered, "Happy Christmas, Sirius." 

***

It was strange, being back once more in Grimmauld Place. But he had no other place to go, and as long as Remus and Harry were here, he didn't want one. Kreacher was gone, as was his mother's portrait, and between them, Molly and Remus had made the old mausoleum almost bearable.

Sometimes he got confused, and forgot this wasn't the life he'd been living for so long. He mentioned things to Harry that Harry had never experienced, remembered birthdays and Christmases and family gatherings Harry had never known. Harry seemed to forgive these lapses, and Sirius tried not to make them too frequently. He would often change into Padfoot after making a mistake, knowing no one could resist the big black dog. And no one expected answers from him when he couldn't speak.

The first time Sirius got a close look at Harry's scar, he reached out a shaky hand to touch it, then drew back, reminded of the mistake he'd made, and everything it had cost.

The other mistakes he made, and far more frequently and deliberately, had to do with Remus. He couldn't keep his hands to himself, and really, he didn't _want_ to. He would put his head on Remus's shoulder or chest at night while Remus was reading, or brush his fingers over Remus's neck and shoulders when walking past him, or casually drop a hand to rest on his hip when reaching around him for something or other, the space between them in those instants measurable only in heartbeats. Remus was self-possessed as always, but Sirius swore his breath hitched occasionally, and considered that a triumph. And then he would feel guilty and pull away, because he had no right to touch Remus like that and it wasn't fair to either of them. But he couldn't find the words, couldn't find his damned Gryffindor courage to tell Remus how he felt, what they'd become to each other. It would have meant having to explain everything else, and he wasn't quite ready for that yet.

He put it off for days, contenting himself with keeping both Harry and Remus near, with relearning the ins and outs of this life, and trying to make it bearable -- make it better -- for all of them.

But time was slipping by. Harry would be headed back to school soon, and he deserved an explanation even more than Remus did. Sirius knew he would speak to Remus first, though, because Remus would understand, would know how to make sense of it all, and even if he didn't, he would _believe_ , and Sirius needed that as much as anything else right now.

He found Remus in the living room, ensconced in a green leather wing chair by the fire, which reflected off his glasses and burnished his hair to glowing copper. He was reading, long fingers absently stroking the binding of the book, and Sirius felt a small pang of envy.

"I need to talk to you," he said without preamble, willing his voice not to shake the way his hands did.

"All right," Remus answered quietly, marking his place, closing the book and taking off his glasses, his movements slow and deliberate, as if he were dealing with a skittish animal. 

Sirius sat in the chair next to Remus's, and pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes. _Where to begin?_ he asked himself. _And how?_

Remus leaned over and tugged Sirius's hands down to his lap, covering them with his own, his eyes searching.

"What do you need?" 

_You,_ Sirius thought. _Most of all, you_. He shook his head. He couldn't start there. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

"Tea? A blanket? Are you cold?" Remus continued when Sirius said nothing.

After a long pause, Sirius grabbed the lifeline Remus was tossing him and said, "Tea. It'll give me time to think."

Remus stepped into the kitchen to put the kettle on and Sirius cursed himself for not having thought this through first. He had always been good at talking, at coming up with excuses at the spur of the moment, talking teachers out of detention, James into trouble, and Remus out of his trousers. And yet now, when he most needed the skill, it had deserted him, and all he could do was turn the same two phrases over in his mind -- _I'm sorry_ , being the first one, and _Please believe me_ , the second. 

By the time Remus returned with the tea tray, Sirius had almost convinced himself he could do this. He had done it before, after all. He had settled into his life beyond the veil with cheerful alacrity, had barely looked back, thinking everything else had changed and he was off the hook. He hadn't realized Remus and Harry and the wizarding world as a whole were still here, and still paying for his mistakes.

Remus handed him the tea and he took it, drinking it without paying attention. He wrinkled his nose and unthinkingly added more sugar. He looked up to see Remus frowning. Another mistake, so small and yet so telling.

He shrugged one shoulder diffidently. "I'm sorry. I never used to like it sweet, I know."

"No sugar for twelve years will do that to a man," Remus said noncommittally.

Sirius gave a huff of laughter. "Oh. No. No, that was" He trailed off, sliding a hand up to hide his eyes again, because he needed to think and he couldn't, not while he was looking at Moony, dying to touch him, kiss him, fuck him. He drew a shaky breath and carefully put the mug down, hoping Remus wouldn't notice his hands were shaking, too.

Of course, Remus did. Bastard. He always had been disgustingly observant. His hand was gentle on Sirius's arm.

"Are you all right, Sirius? Truthfully?"

Sirius took another shaky breath and dropped his hand. "No," he said finally. "No. I-- Two years?" It was so long and yet nothing compared to how long he'd lived while he was gone.

"Yes," Remus replied, setting his teacup on the coffee table. Sirius wanted to laugh at the way he absentmindedly put a coaster beneath it. "A rather rough two years."

"I--" He stopped. Remus didn't need another apology. He needed the truth. "Do you think I'm insane?" 

"Of course not," Remus answered, but it wasn't convincing. "Well, not insane, exactly. You were -- gone for two years. It's only natural to feel disjointed, and everyone's grown a bit--"

"My mind's not that bad," he said, irritated at this equivocation.

"Isn't it?" Sirius shot him a hard look and Remus shrugged, unfazed by that, at least. "What happened, Sirius? There?"

There was no easy way to answer that question. Remus reached out and wrapped his fingers around Sirius's, twining them together, for comfort, reassurance. Sirius caught his breath at the touch, so familiar and yet so different.

"The veil," he began, somewhat hesitantly, unsure of how to explain. "It wasn't... good or evil, you have to understand."

Remus inclined his head. "Okay." 

"It exists to balance the universe. Dumbledore thought it was a gateway to the underworld, but it isn't, it's" He paused, and Remus said nothing, waiting. He started again, awkwardly, remembering the Unspeakables' terse explanations. "Voldemort is chaotic. Voldemort creates chaos. The veil exists to prevent chaos."

"I'm afraid I don't understand."

"It..." Sirius said, closing his eyes for a moment, squeezed Remus's fingers. "It used me as a tool. It chose the decision I made that caused the most chaos, and it showed me what would have happened if I hadn't made it. Then it sent me back here with the idea that I would work to create a world that is more like that one was."

"The decision you made that caused the most chaos?" Remus echoed.

Sirius remained silent, eyes still closed, willing Remus to figure it out. It didn't take him long.

"If you had stayed the Secret Keeper," Remus whispered.

"They didn't die," Sirius said flatly, finally meeting Remus's gaze. "James killed Voldemort, with Lily, and Dumbledore. You--" He reached out and cupped Remus's face with his free hand, running his thumb over the arch of Remus's cheek. Remus sucked in a breath and went still, his eyes wary in the flickering light of the fireplace, reminding Sirius yet again of the distance between them. And he cursed himself yet again for forgetting that in this life, they'd been nothing more than good friends. He dropped his hand quickly, swallowing hard against the tightness in his throat, but didn't let go of Remus's hand. His voice was rough with pride and fear when he said, "You-- You pretended to be the Secret Keeper and got yourself tortured by Death Eaters. You spent a few days in St. Mungo's for your trouble. Missed all the best parties." He blinked away tears at the memory. "Idiot."

Remus gave a small huff of laughter. "Of course I did," he said, shaking his head. "Of course." He smiled sadly. "That's why you look at Harry strangely."

"He didn't have a scar. It was a whole different world, Moony. A whole different life."

Remus sucked in a sharp, shocked breath. "Oh, Christ, Sirius, I'm so sorry."

"Me, too." He shifted in his seat, leaned close, close enough to breathe Remus in. "I wish..."

"It's no use wishing," Remus whispered. He raised a hand as if to stroke Sirius's hair, but let it drop without touching him. Sirius wanted to whimper at that, wanted to beg to be touched by those long, ink-stained fingers that used to know his body so well. "Life wouldn't be life if we didn't make some bad decisions. Everything can't be perfect."

"But it was," Sirius protested, remembering. He looked down at their entwined fingers. "God, Moony, you told me... You and I...We..." His voice broke.

"We what, Sirius?" Remus asked intently.

Sirius raised his head, trying to put all the love he had for this man into his eyes, trying to say everything with one long stare. He wished he were a Legilimens, able to simply show Remus the life they'd lived together, the love they'd shared. He shifted forward, slid a hand to Remus's shoulder, feeling the warmth of Remus's skin through his thin cotton shirt. He bent his head, eyes fluttering closed as he inhaled Remus's breath, felt it brush over his lips like a ghost.

Then he pulled back, jerking his hand out of Remus's, and shook his head. He couldn't do this, couldn't force this on Remus. He didn't even know if this Remus had ever loved him that way, let alone loved him still. A long time had passed.

"Sirius? I'm still not sure I understand." 

Sirius gave a short, sharp laugh, because of course Remus would know he was hiding something. "'There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.'" 

"Quite," Remus replied with an unsteady smile, eyes still guarded. Always, always so guarded, his Moony, but that had been for other people, and it hurt to see it directed at him. 

Sirius pulled himself together and stood. "I think I'll go to bed." He was tempted to turn and ask Remus to join him, but he didn't, and when he finally looked back, Remus was still sitting in the living room, staring into the fire, looking like a statue carved from bronze in its flickering light.

***

As Sirius lay in bed that night, tossing and turning, he thought about avoiding Remus for the next few days. In theory, it wouldn't be hard, given the size of Grimmauld Place, and Harry's determination to stick to him during waking hours. But Remus had lived here for the past two years, and the house was beginning to accept him, to bear the stamp of his personality. Sirius had found unexpected reminders of him in odd places -- Ivory soap in the bathroom, books piled on tables instead of locked away in cabinets in the library, Muggle music drifting through the kitchen or the living room, often accompanied by Remus's off-key singing.

It was far more Remus's home now than it had ever been his, and he found that, for the first time in his life, he wanted to belong in this house, because he belonged with Remus, and Remus belonged with him.

So it was on to Plan B. Sirius had never been good at contingency planning, so Plan B wasn't actually much of a plan, but it was better than lying in the dark alone, not sleeping, because he couldn't tell Remus the whole truth. 

If something couldn't be avoided, it should be faced, preferably as soon as possible. Sirius had never liked waiting around for things to happen; he had always acted first and thought later, which admittedly had caused a lot of his problems in this life. But what was the worst that could happen? Moony would say no, and that would be the end of it. Sirius would deal with that if he had to. He wouldn't actually die of a broken heart -- he'd learned that in Azkaban -- though he might slowly go mad with want.

He rolled out of bed and pulled on his clothes.

And if Moony said yes, well, he would never have to lie here alone again, wondering.

He slipped down the hall to the room they'd shared his first few nights back, when neither Remus nor Harry would let him out of their sight except to use the bathroom. 

Remus was asleep, curled up on his left side, one hand dangling off the side of the bed, blankets pulled up to his chin. He looked younger in sleep, less careworn in the few shafts of light falling across the bed through the drawn blinds. Remus had never liked sleeping in the moonlight.

Sirius carefully sank down onto the bed beside him, trying not to disturb him. He lay there, propped up on one elbow, and watched for a few moments, mesmerized by the soft sound of Remus's breathing, the way his hand would tighten on the blanket and then release, the sweep of his lashes and the curve of his lips softening the planes and angles of his face.

Hesitantly, he reached out a hand to brush back Remus's fringe; Remus rolled over, and woke.

"Sirius?" he murmured sleepily. "What time is it?"

Sirius could hear the unspoken question: _What are you doing here?_

"It's late. Or early, depending on how you look at it," Sirius replied hoarsely. "I have to tell you something."

Remus sat up, squinting in the darkness. "Yes?" He fiddled with the sleeves of the white shirt he was wearing, fastened a button that had come undone and brushed a hand through his sleep-disheveled hair.

Sirius sat up as well, crossing his legs and looking down at his hands. "I wasn't completely honest earlier."

Remus grinned knowingly at him, and Sirius was reminded of the mischievous boys they'd once been. "You weren't?"

"I--" He rubbed his forehead, pinched the bridge of his nose. "I wanted--"

Remus sighed and put a hand on his shoulder. "Sirius, it's all right."

"No, it's not," Sirius answered desperately, looking up to meet Remus's eyes. "You don't understand. You can't."

"No," Remus said, and damn him for being reasonable, "but you ought to at least let me try."

They stared at each other for a long moment in the dark. 

Finally, Sirius said, "I take my tea with as much sugar as you do because we lived together."

"Oh," Remus said, sounding surprised. "Okay."

Sirius grunted, because Remus was obviously not getting it. Perhaps he was still half-asleep, because he was usually quicker on the uptake than that. "No, I mean, we _lived_ together."

Remus went still, much as he had earlier in the evening. "I don't -- I don't understand," he said, his voice a strangled whisper.

"You told me you loved me on Harry's second birthday," Sirius said softly, closing his eyes and remembering. "We were as good as married by his third."

"Ah. That explains a lot, actually." He sounded amused and something else Sirius couldn't put his finger on, but amusement was not the reaction he'd been hoping for. Sirius supposed it was better than being kicked summarily out of bed, though, and pressed on.

"It was a long time ago, if you did. I know that. Maybe you didn't at all, in this life. I don't expect you still feel the same way, if you did, but I thought you ought to know."

"It's all right."

"If I say anything, or do anything, I'm sorry." Sirius forced a smile he didn't feel. "You're hard to get over. I wish--"

"You wish?" Remus asked gently.

There was hope in that question, wasn't there? Sirius felt his own hope rising to match it. "I know it's been a long time," he replied with a shaky laugh. "But God, I wish you felt that way, because I wish I could make you feel like I felt, then." He swallowed hard. "Like I feel now."

"Twenty years is an awfully long time to love somebody," Remus whispered.

Sirius's laugh was edged with equal measures of hope and bitterness. "I don't expect you to."

Remus shook his head. "I said it was a long time. I didn't say I stopped loving you."

Sirius stared at Remus for a long moment, and even in the dark he could see his own hope reflected back at him on Remus's face. Sirius leaned forward and kissed him fiercely, desperately, as though he could will the memories of their life together into Remus with the thrust and glide of his tongue, the wet heat of his mouth.

The kiss was as familiar as the millions of kisses they'd shared over the years, and yet different, almost like their first kiss all over again, because this Remus had never kissed him before. He used all his knowledge to make Remus whimper, fluttering his tongue along the roof of Remus's mouth, threading his hands through Remus's hair before cupping his chin, fingers brushing over his face to relearn it by touch. Remus shivered and moaned into his mouth, and Sirius slid his hands down to fist in Remus's shirt, pulling him closer until they were chest to chest, and he could feel Remus's heart beating in time with his own. 

Remus met him kiss for kiss, his hands ghosting over Sirius's hair and neck, and what he lacked in firsthand knowledge of what Sirius liked, he made up for in enthusiasm. 

When he broke the kiss, Sirius pressed his face to the crook of Remus's neck, breathing heavily, inhaling the scent of _Moony-sweat-sleep_. He undid the top button on Remus's shirt and pressed his lips to Remus's clavicle, seeking out the familiar constellation of freckles scattered there, tasting them again.

"That was unexpected," Remus whispered in his ear, laughing under his breath.

"But not unwelcome, I hope."

"No, not unwelcome," Remus said, "but--"

Sirius froze. "There's always a 'but' with you, Moony. Not this time, please?"

Remus shook his head slightly. "I'm not the same man you knew in that other life."

"And I'm not the same man you've loved for twenty years. But I'm still me, and you're still you, Remus. I think it's enough. More than enough." He smiled then. "It all balances out. That's what you told me the first time we did this."

"Was it good?" Remus asked roughly, sending a hot thrill through Sirius's body. 

"The best. Always." He laughed, breathless and giddy with desire. "Let me show you."

Remus brushed the backs of his fingers over Sirius's cheek, and Sirius took that as a yes. He pushed Remus down onto the bed, pinning him with his hands and then his body, kissing him as if Remus's mouth contained the secrets of the universe.

"Please," he murmured, thrusting against Remus's thigh. He felt Remus shudder in return, control slipping away. "Remus."

"Whatever you want, Sirius," he managed. "Whatever you need."

Sirius slid his hands under Remus's shirt, tracing circles on the soft skin of his belly as he writhed beneath the touch.

"You're so beautiful," Sirius whispered, moving his hands to unbutton Remus's shirt, patient until Remus thrust up against him with a moan that went straight to Sirius's cock. Sirius gave in and just yanked the shirt off over Remus's head.

"Oh, God." Remus buried his face against Sirius's shoulder as Sirius licked at the freckles on his collarbone, a hand sliding up to tangle in his hair. Sirius was attuned to Remus's every response, reveling in the feel of Remus's body beneath him, the intensity in his eyes when he raised his head and pulled Sirius's face up for another searing kiss.

Sirius nuzzled along his jaw, breathing raggedly. "All right?" he whispered against Remus's skin, loving the feel of stubble against his lips.

"It's been a while," Remus admitted.

"Please don't ask me to be sorry," Sirius said, jealousy flaring. "I don't think I could stand anyone else touching you."

"Don't want anyone else to touch me," Remus replied, thrusting up again.

"Good," Sirius said fiercely, running his fingers over Remus's chest and belly, watching the muscles quiver and shift beneath the skin. There were scars he didn't recognize, and he realized they had to be from the twelve years he'd been in Azkaban. He bent and pressed his lips to each one, tracing apologies and promises with his tongue along salty, ridged skin as Remus twisted beneath him. 

"Please," Remus gasped. 

"Hush." Sirius pulled down Remus's boxers, running his fingers over long legs, loving the feel of skin and hair against the palms of his hands. Remus kicked off his shorts and stretched, arching into Sirius's body, moaning as Sirius slid a hand down to curl long fingers around his erection.

"Tell me what you want," Sirius demanded, stroking him firmly, and punctuating his words with hot, open-mouthed kisses along Remus's jaw and neck. "Anything you want -- let me give it to you."

"You," Remus moaned. "Oh, God, Sirius. I want you."

Sirius watched Remus come undone, drinking in every thrust and moan, every shuddering gasp and grunt as he came, warm and wet, over Sirius's hand. 

Sirius gathered him in, pressing kisses to his hair and temple, nearly overwhelmed with love and gratitude, that this, at least, he could do -- he could bring happiness to Remus after all these years.

"Oh, God," Remus said again, when he'd recovered himself. He reached a trembling hand to cup Sirius's face and pulled him close for a long, drugging kiss. "I'm so sorry," Remus murmured in between gentle kisses. "Should have told you, should have said something, should have kissed you."

"Me, too," Sirius said, and then gasped into Remus's mouth as Remus's hands undid his flies and shoved his trousers down.

"Twenty years is a long time to think about something," Remus whispered in his ear. "I know what I want."

"Tell me," Sirius demanded, gasping as Remus brushed a thumb over the head of his cock and then sucked the finger into his mouth.

Remus's voice was hot and wicked. "I want you. I want to make you come, and I want you to say my name when you do."

"God, yes," Sirius growled. "Please."

Remus was tentative at first, touching Sirius so slowly, so thoroughly, Sirius thought he would die from it. They rolled and Remus pinned him, kissing his way along Sirius's collarbone, nipping the hollow of his throat and dragging his fingertips over Sirius's skin as if he wanted to learn his body an inch at a time.

"Mine," Remus murmured, low and rough.

"Yours," Sirius agreed, offering himself up. It was for this that he'd been sent back, as much as anything else. And if Remus needed to be in control, needed to go slow, he could give him that along with everything else. He scrambled for a pillow to shove under his hips, raising himself up for the taking.

Remus slid his fingers over Sirius's sweat-slicked thighs and Sirius arched into him, making desperate noises deep in the back of his throat, begging for more with voice and body, desire heated to fever pitch, lightning sparking in his veins. His cock was hard and aching for Remus's touch.

"Remus, please," Sirius whispered, opening himself up to Remus's hands.

Sirius choked on a laugh as Remus murmured a spell under his breath, and reached to open the bedside drawer, catching the golden vial that flew into his hand. The liquid glimmered in the dimness of the room, Sirius swallowed hard in anticipation, drinking in the sight of Remus slicking his cock, hard again because of him. 

"Fuck, Remus," he groaned.

"All right?" Remus asked, kissing Sirius as he nudged his legs apart.

Sirius lost the words to answer as Remus slid slick fingers inside, uttering a low moan instead. Remus's eyes were closed and his breathing was erratic, but Sirius wanted to see everything Remus did and forced his eyes open against the heady pleasure Remus's touch was unleashing inside him. 

"Now," Sirius gasped roughly. "Now, Remus. _Please_."

Remus did not wait for a second invitation, withdrawing his fingers and positioning himself between Sirius's thighs. Remus slid inside oh-so-slowly, and Sirius reveled in the stretch, the feeling of being full, of having what he'd feared he'd never have again.

Remus shivered and thrust, and Sirius arched up to meet him. "Yes," he whispered, and, "please," and, "fuck, Remus," as they moved together, friction and heat and sweat and love. Remus bent and kissed him hungrily, stealing the words from his mouth, the breath from his lungs, and replacing them with other words ( _mine, yours, always_ ) and better air, because it tasted of _MoonyandPadfoot_ and magic.

"Sirius--" Remus murmured, drawing back.

Sirius shifted, and then Remus thrust a little deeper, a little harder, and the edges of Sirius's vision went red with pleasure. He cried out, pleading for more, and Remus gasped a laugh, repeating the motion. Sirius let his head fall back against the pillows, unable to keep his eyes open any longer against the heat and pressure inside him, so close to the breaking point.

"So good, so hot, so-- Fuck, Remus--" he babbled hoarsely, fingertips digging into Remus's hips as he arched further into the contact. 

Remus increased his pace, tightening his grip on Sirius's shoulders, and Sirius's eyes flew open, to meeting Remus's heated, lambent stare.

"Come on, Sirius," Remus growled. "Come for me."

"Remus," he gasped, clutching at Remus as the pressure crested and broke, and Sirius came, pleasure flooding through him and pulsing out, warm and wet between their bodies.

Remus followed a moment later, crying out softly, and then collapsed in a shuddering heap on top of him. He stroked Remus's hair and back, breathed in their mingled scents clinging to their skin, and wished they could stay this way forever. He felt the sting of tears and blinked them away, snuffling just a little.

He was drifting off to sleep, perfectly happy to never move again, or at least not until morning, when he was sure he'd be ready for another round, when Remus murmured a cleaning spell and rolled onto his side. His eyes never left Sirius's face, and he reached out to stroke Sirius's hair gently. He trailed his fingers down and along Sirius's jaw, giving him a soft smile.

"Remus," said Sirius, turning his face into Remus's palm. "My Moony."

"Yes." An affirmation, benediction, the answer to his secret prayers.

"You're not going to kick me out of bed, are you?" he asked, using the puppydog eyes that had always got him out of trouble.

Remus huffed a laugh. "No, Sirius. Please. Stay with me."

Sirius pulled him close, and Remus settled his back against Sirius's chest. Sirius listened to Remus's breathing and slowed his to match it, twining his fingers through Remus's and curling around him to keep away the cold.

"You haven't said it, you know," Remus said, long after Sirius thought he was asleep.

Sirius raised himself up so he could see Remus's face. "That I love you? I do. With all my heart. Will you--" 

"I love you," Remus answered before he could finish asking, turning to cup Sirius's cheek and pressing a soft kiss to his lips. "I promise."

Sirius returned the kiss, and the vow. It was one he intended to keep.

end


End file.
